Then everything is good
by wren3
Summary: The most important thing asked in return is simple, and so hard at the same time. It is to accept the gift.


Disclaimer: Les Misérables is the work of Victor Hugo, and the lyrics are to the song "Flying home (Brenda's song)" by Chantal Kreviazuk. 

Hope you guys enjoy! 

It was raining as the well-appointed carriage drew smartly to a halt.  An observer 

would have seen in the feeble light of the streetlamps, a young man descend, slowly and

painfully, and seen him  pause on the slick cobblestones to draw his overcoat 

around him, against the cold.   But, as it was, the street corner stood deserted. The young 

man, his face drawn,     was alone with the chill in his heart. And his fear of facing what 

he had come – against all advice, and despite concern for his health– to face. 

_It's hard to let you go  
You've always let me in  
And helped with all the endings  
And to know where to begin  
I need you here for me  
Cause you always know my heart  
I can't believe we'd change  
Or have to be apart  
  
_

He continued to hesitate, unsure now if he could accomplish here what he'd set out to do, because how could he, with what had occurred here? Impossible.  In truth, he wanted only  to go back, to change his mind.. But then a voice in his head urged him on. For months, as the summer turned to fall, the fall into winter, his dreams had been haunted by what he could remember, and by the question he couldn't answer, and that tore at him; why had he survived  when so many others had not? All of it was an open festering wound of the soul. He had to make this last attempt at healing, more than his life and his fate now depended upon it, and he didn't have much time left. 

_But if you've seen the love that's in her eyes  
Then everything is good  
And if you know the way she felt inside  
She's flying where she should  
I never believed we'd ever live to see  
An angel being born  
And flying home  _

 He could see now, at the end of the cul-de-sac, the building that was shorter than the others around it. He approached it as one would a place of death, for that is what it was. 

His feet carried him on, toward the place where they had made their stand. He did not have any sense of how much time passed as he remained there without moving. Seeing each of his friends' faces. Hearing their voices as if they were still with him.  Looking in from the outside at their gathering place, and their last refuge. At length, he pulled himself from the reverie, and, his eyes came to where the inscription _Carpe Ho_ _Ras, at which he gave a small smile before taking himself with heavy steps, to the next street, on the right.   His chest was squeezed by the weight of his memories now, of who and what he had found there in the stillness of the June night. His eyes stung. Her last moments were replayed for him, clearly, so clearly.  And he admitted to himself that this was the reason he had come. He allowed himself that honesty, the acknowledgment of that which, in the deepest parts of his soul, he could not reconcile. And wished that there was any comfort to be found._

_It's good to know your laugh  
And you'll always hold my hand  
And watch from up in heaven  
And always understand  
We'll take you down the road  
And in everything we do_

We'll know how much you love us  
A soul that's kind and true

There wasn't though, he knew.  No way to live in happiness that had been bought with suffering. With blood.  No way –now that so much promise was laid before him- to ignore the cost. And the one who had paid it. He'd recoiled from her, from thinking of her. And at the same time, how desperately he had wanted more time, more time to make up for failing to keep his promise- not the one she'd requested of him, but the one he'd made to her, to protect. More time to say what he should have said, more time to fix it so that he wouldn't have had to notice only after it was too late.  

I'm sorry He cried out silently in the darkness. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me? 

No answer came. He berated the part of himself that had selfishly hoped for one to take 

away his grief and ease his own conscience.           
  


And if you've seen the love that's in her eyes  
Then everything is good  
And if you know the way she felt inside  
She's flying where she should

_I never believed we'd ever live to see  
An angel being born  
And flying home_  
  


 In the quiet, his thoughts swirled, and the emotions he could not share with anyone poured out.  Eventually, he collected himself, and felt foolish for even believing that a visit to this gravesite could somehow be a solution, a magical cure. He turned to leave, but his eyes lighted on an unobtrusive corner. He approached. It was writing, scratched crudely enough into the paint and slightly faded.  He still could make the words out, even in the darkness. Names. Of those he recognized.  Someone must have put them there in solidarity.

He ran his fingers over each one, a lump forming in his throat. So many… and all it vain.. 

He stopped himself. That wasn't determined yet. Their legacy was still being made. 

She was not on this makeshift memorial, but the same was true for her as well. 

_Because whatever else you might have been or done in your short life, whether good or ill, you saved me.  And the most important thing asked in return is simple, and so hard at the same time. It is to accept the gift.   Perhaps that's what I had to learn by returning to this spot. _

The driver would be waiting, he suddenly realized. And he was finished here, at least for 

the time being. 

Well, almost.. 

He found a small rock near his feet, bent to pick it up. He approached the wall and set to 

work, pressing hard.  

_Can you see the love in her eyes?   
If you've seen the love that's in her eyes  
Then everything is good  
And if you know the way she felt inside  
She's flying where she should  
I never believed we'd ever live to see  
An angel being born  
And flying home   
  
_

When done, he stepped  back, and traced his fingers over the letters that spelled her name _Éponine __Thénardier. _

The gesture was a prayer_:  I hope you've found your peace at last, my friend.  _

Satisfied, he let the rock fall back to the ground.

Then, with a load that was a little lighter than before, Marius Pontmercy returned 

the way he had come. To Cosette, and to the future that awaited them. 

_I never believed we'd ever live to see_

_An angel being born_

_And flying home…_


End file.
